Eyewitness: The UNHCR's Naomi Steer describes one family's desert trek out of Syria

Updated
Fri 18 Oct 2013, 2:06 PM AEDT

Photo

Birth of a refugee: A UNHCR worker carries a crippled Syrian girl across the border into Jordan.

Supplied: Naomi Steer

Naomi Steer, the national director of the UNHCR's Australian branch, has recently returned from working with Syrian refugees in Jordan. In a piece for the ABC, she remembers watching a crippled child cross the sand berm between the nations - the birth of a refugee.

Standing on the so-called berm, the steep ridge of earth that marks the border between Jordan and Syria, I could just make out in the distance what appeared to be six or seven blurry dots apparently moving my way.

As I stared, the dots became bigger and emerged from the shimmering haze to morph into human figures. They were making their way across the seven kilometres of no-man's-land that separates the two countries.

In response to the refugee crisis now building due to conflict in Syria, the ABC has broadcast a national appeal, asking Australians to donate money for humanitarian relief.

For more information and the list of agencies working in the region or how to donate go to abc.net.au/appeals.

As they came closer I could make out a man carrying a large jerry can in one hand and a young child in his other arm. Two women carried suitcases, both with a child each on their backs. Several other children struggled on behind. One of them seemed to stagger and fall. At first she looked like she had four legs and then I realised she was walking with the aid of crutches.

It is difficult to describe the pathos and heartbreak of this situation.

It was about 40 degrees Celsius in the shade and the sand was burning hot. One of the soldiers from the Jordanian border patrol explained to me that it took about four hours to make it across this particular remote border crossing.

Most people cross at night – some nights in their thousands fleeing to avoid the helicopter gun ships and military patrols on the other side

For any able-bodied grown-up it was a tough trek, but can you imagine what it was like for a child on crutches?

I had travelled to the Syrian border with the UNHCR and the Jordanian Border Patrol, who monitor movements of Syrians across the border.

Most people cross at night – some nights in their thousands fleeing to avoid the helicopter gun ships and military patrols on the other side. But families like this also come every day in small groups in their bid for safety.

I wondered why no-one was doing anything to help them as we all watched from the ridge. When they were about 100 metres from the berm, UNHCR staff rushed down to meet them. They were at last allowed by international law to assist as the people were within a few metres of Jordan.

Left behind in the final rush for safety, the young girl on crutches struggled to make her way up the steep and slippery berm. I went to help but was overtaken by a UNHCR protection officer who swept her up in his arms. They passed within metres of me crossing the invisible but very real borderline in the sand.

I blinked back tears as I realised in that exact moment I had witnessed the birth of a refugee.

To know what this means you must understand what she was fleeing from and what she was heading to. What would drive a small family to abandon their home and take their young children on this perilous journey?

It certainly wasn't to a better life. The refugee camp I had visited and the rundown dwellings refugees who were sheltering in the city were no substitute for the nice houses and carefully tended gardens people showed me in their photos of life in Syria before the war.

When young Maha - that was her name - crossed over from Syria into Jordan, she lost her country, her home, her friends, her education. Everything that a little girl held dear was now on the other side of the no-man's-land.

What her parents told me, and indeed the story of every refugee I spoke to, was that the decision to flee had become a very basic one: Stay and be killed or flee into an unknown country and uncertain future.

I left Maha huddled with her family waiting for transport to take them to the refugee transit centre. Her small crutches were balanced against a suitcase- a poignant last image for me of this newest refugee.